The Will of Selma Hacker
by MinervaDeannaBond
Summary: Following Selma's funeral, the gang gathers for the reading of her will, which holds a special surprise for Bull. Prequel to S3E01, "Hello, Goodbye"; slightly AU.


What if Selma had left a will when she died? What would she have left each of her friends? Was she always looking out for Bull and there in spirit? This fic answers those questions for all _Night Court _fans who may have pondered them.

Lovingly dedicated to the memory of Selma Diamond. You're greatly missed and still loved, Selma, and always a shining diamond.

* * *

Whoever said death took a holiday needed their face rearranged.

Death never took a holiday in New York. People got shot, stabbed, strangled, and suffocated on a daily basis; it was nothing new to the presiding officers of Manhattan's Criminal Court Part 2. But when death hit them too close to home, it brought a wave of grief like nothing they had ever felt.

For Bull Shannon, the grief was more of a tsunami that drowned him day after day. His best friend was gone, dead of a disease that most people hadn't even known she'd had. He'd wondered why she was late for work one night about three months back, and being herself, she didn't say a word. But then she had taken him aside after court adjourned and dropped a bomb on him.

_Three months ago..._

"I've got cancer, Bull."

Bull sat on the bench with his jaw slack, his gut twisting itself into knots as he tried to process what he had just heard. "What?" _She's kidding, she's gotta be kidding!_

Selma's grim expression confirmed his worst fears. She wasn't kidding at all. "I've got cancer," she repeated, her drawl utterly hollow. "It's in my lungs."

Bull shook his head. "No. No, you can't be sick."

"Well, I am."

"You can't die!"

"I _am_ dying!"

That socked the wind right out of him. Bull went rigid and a low, agonizing moan came out of his mouth, his gut roiling so much that he was afraid he'd throw up right there in the deserted courtroom. Selma couldn't be dying. Not tiny, no-nonsense, butt-kicking Selma Hacker. Selma was a live wire who confiscated cigarettes from the detainees in Holding and then smoked them herself; the same woman who, despite her small height, had once beaten the crap out of a macho motorcycle gang leader who'd stolen Bull's poetry notebook and threatened to set it on fire. Selma would have given her life for him. Now it was being taken from her? It didn't make any sense!

"How." His voice became every bit as empty as hers.

"I told ya, I've got –"

"I know!" Bull burst out in anger, not at Selma, but at the disease that was eating her alive. "How did you get it?"

"I think you already know."

Truth was, he did know. It was no secret that Selma chain-smoked like a felon. "Jeez, Selma, why didn't you quit smoking?"

"Do you think I'd have quit even if a doctor ordered me to?"

"No. Genghis Khan couldn't have made you quit."

"Genghis Khan eats my socks."

Bull chuckled in spite of the tears pooling in his eyes and, of course, Selma noticed. "There ya go, there's that smile. I don't want you boo-hooing over me."

"I don't want you to die."

"I know." Selma smiled sadly and sidled closer to him on the bench, sliding an arm around him. "I don't wanna die either, but it's gonna happen. My doctor says I've got three months left at best. It's already too far along to do anything about it."

That was too much for Bull, who finally snapped with an anguished wail, the tears breaking free. "Don't say that! You can't die, you can't!" he cried, yanking her into his arms and crushing her petite frame to his powerful body. "Who's gonna look out for me if you're dead? Don't go, Selma, don't go!" He buried his face in her shoulder, weeping like a motherless child.

"Bull... for Pete's sake, you're not gonna squeeze the cancer out of me. Now _quit!_" Wrenching one of her arms free, Selma reached up and slapped the back of Bull's head just as she barked the word _quit._

The slap stung his scalp and snapped him out of his hysteria, and the yell caught his attention and brought him back to reality. Bull quieted down, though his face was still swimming in tears, and, drying his eyes as best as he could, focused on his best friend. The dirty blonde hair, the sharp brown eyes, the stern _I-take-no-crap-from-nobody _expression, the tiny little body that hid a tremendous heart – this was Selma. How could he live without her?

"You'll live," she said, as though she could read his thoughts. "You're gonna live remembering me and all the crazy times we've had together. Until then, you got three more months with me, so you better make 'em count. Don't treat me like a doll just 'cause I'm sick. We're still gonna work together and have a drink at Muldoon's just like we always do. We're gonna pick on Dan, go out to lunch with Mac and Billie, and watch Harry prank every judicial stiff in this joint. We're a team, you and me, and we're stickin' together until I breathe my last. You got that?" When he nodded once and snuffled, Selma reached into her uniform jacket and pulled out a handkerchief. "Blow," she commanded, holding the cloth square to his nose. He blew like a foghorn and dabbed at his swollen, red eyes when she took the now sopping hankie away. She said nothing, merely sat back and watched while he struggled to orient himself. "You calm now?" Nod. "Okay, listen up and listen good, 'cause this is important. You don't have to worry about me not being able to look out for you."

Bull blinked. "Why not? You'll be..." He swallowed hard. "Dead."

"Bein' dead ain't gonna stop me from making sure you're taken care of." Selma took one of his big hands in both of hers. "I'm always gonna be watching over you, and you're never gonna have to worry about a thing. I'll take care of you, Bull, you can count on it."

"How?"

"You'll see. Now come here." Selma took his head in her hands and kissed him gently on the cheek. "No more crying, I mean it. You hear?"

A melancholy smile crossed Bull's face. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Now let's head over to Muldoon's. I wanna kick off my last three months with a beer and a round of darts. You got our usual picture for the target?"

"Yup!" Bull grinned and withdrew a 10x12" picture of Dan from his inside jacket pocket.

"That's my boy!" Selma clapped him good and hard on the back as they left arm in arm, as though nothing would ever change.

But things had changed. Selma had died three days ago, her funeral had been held just this morning, and now Harry had called everyone into his chambers for the reading of her will. Bull sat glum-faced on the couch, staring at his shoes and fighting tears with every ounce of willpower he had. _Don't cry. Don't cry. Do. Not. Cry._

"Bull?"

He raised his head when Harry spoke his name. The judge had donned his robe over his funeral suit and was holding a folded document in his hands. "You ready?"

Bull straightened himself up. Selma wouldn't want him slouching. "Yes, Your Honor."

"Okay then, let's begin." Harry unfolded the paper and read aloud. "The last will and testament of Selma Laverne Hacker."

"Laverne?" Dan chuckled. "Did she have a sister named Shirley and two brothers named Lenny and Squiggy?"

Bull gave him a look that could have frozen Earth's core. "Shut... up," he said menacingly; Dan shut his mouth with an audible snap.

"As I was saying," Harry continued with a dirty look at Dan, "'I, Selma Hacker, of sound mind and questionable body..." He smiled, "hereby bequeath the following to the heirs listed below. Okay, enough of the legal crap, here's the goods.'" He waited for the snickering to die down before reading on. "'To Judge Harold T. Stone, I leave my only pack of joke cigarettes, the kind that explode when you light them. Harry, you always made me laugh with your pranks, so now I'm returning the favor. I know you'll use these well.'" Harry reached into the box on his desk, the one containing the bequeathed items, and took out the cigarettes with a grin. "Hey Dan, you want a smoke?"

"With all due respect, sir, I would rather shave my eyeballs," Dan retorted amid another tide of snickering.

Harry chuckled and shot a grin heavenward. "Thanks, Selma." He set the cigarettes down and returned to the will. "'To Mac Robinson, I leave my dad's gold watch, to remember the good times we had in the courtroom and to call time if things get out of hand. Good luck, Mac. If anybody can stop the clock on this bunch, it's you.'"

Mac roared with laughter. "Amazing! Even after she's gone, she's still making us laugh."

"Well, Selma wasn't the mopey type, so it makes sense that she didn't want us moping, either." Harry rooted in the box and lifted up a gold pocket watch on a chain, ticking merrily away. "That's a beauty, Mac."

"Sure is," Mac said in awe, carefully taking the timepiece in hand. "Man, Quon Le's gonna love it."

"Yeah, you can call a halftime on her next shopping spree."

"Dan!" Harry warned. "Okay, people, back to the will." He cleared his throat. "'To Billie Young, I leave my lucky whistle from my gym days. I used it to rally the girls on the hockey team, and I hope you'll use it to blast Dan's eardrums if he gets too close."

Billie giggled in delight as Harry looped the whistle around her neck. "This is something else! I told Selma a month ago that I wanted a rape whistle, and she remembered!" She gave Dan a wicked grin. "Watch your back, Fielding."

Dan smirked. "How can I when I'm too busy watching yours?"

"I'd zip it if I were you, Dan; you're up next." Harry read the next item. "'To Dan Fielding, I leave..." The judge snorted, his face turning pink with barely concealed mirth. "'I leave my moldiest liverwurst sandwich, to remind you of the scum you are!'"

The entire room was in a roar as Harry pulled a grease-stained, smelly paper bag from the box and hurled it at Dan, who shrieked like a girl and vaulted over the back of the couch before the bag could strike home. He finally poked his head up to howls of laughter. "You think that's funny?" He raised his eyes to the ceiling and yelled, "For crying out loud, Selma, what did I ever do to you?"

"You made fun of her."

"Picked on Bull."

"Stole her cigarettes once or twice."

"Just acted like an all-around jerk."

"All right, all right, I get it!" Dan cried, holding up his hands in surrender. "Why'd she leave me liverwurst, though?"

"'Dan, you're probably wondering why I left you liverwurst,'" Harry read, as if on cue. "'Maggots like moldy meat.'"

Dan sulked as a fresh wave of laughter swept the room. "Harry gets exploding smokes. Mac gets a solid gold watch. Billie gets a whistle. And what does Danny boy get? A Nazi's leftovers from '43!" He plunked back down on the couch in disgust. "Can't wait to see what Bull gets."

Bull perked up. "Selma left me something?"

Harry scanned the document and a slow smile began to crease his face. "Ho-ho, boy, did she ever. Listen to this. 'Last but not least, there's my estate, a whopping total of $250,000.'"

"You're JOKING!" Dan roared, leaping up from the sofa. "Selma Hacker, the same woman who dried her pantyhose in the oven, had that much dough? I didn't know she was loaded!"

"'Yeah, I bet you didn't know I was loaded,'" Harry read on, his goofy grin still firmly in place. "'Dan, quit drooling, 'cause you're not getting a penny of it. After your IRS audit, I wouldn't trust you with Monopoly money and a bag of magic beans.'" He paused to enjoy Dan's horrified expression, then picked up where he left off. "'To make sure he's taken care of when I'm gone, I leave the full amount to my friend and fellow bailiff, Nostradamus "Bull" Shannon.'"

Harry's chambers exploded – the judge, Mac, and Billie with cheers for a flabbergasted Bull and Dan in, predictably, outrage. "250,000 American dollars, and she leaves every last one to a man who still believes in the Easter Bunny?! Was she insane?"

A loud bang called silence down upon the room as Harry seized his oversized gavel and pounded it on his desk. "All right, that is enough! Dan, I want you out of here right now! And when you can act like a human being instead of a pompous jackass, get back in here, 'cause I want a word with you." When Dan opened his mouth to protest, Harry held up a hand. "No buts, no begging, no sucking up. Out!" He jabbed his index finger at the door and glared at Dan, who stalked out of the chambers muttering viciously under his breath, every stomp of his loafers echoing loudly off the corridor walls.

The judge exhaled a tired sigh. "Mac, Billie, would you guys go after him and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, like jam his head into the Xerox machine?"

"Sure thing, Your Honor." Mac clapped Bull on the shoulder as he made his exit. "Congratulations, Big Guy."

"Yeah, good for you," Billie chimed in, hugging the bailiff tight. "Selma must've really loved you to do such a sweet thing."

Once they were gone, Bull still couldn't speak. He sat poleaxed on the couch until Harry prompted him out of La-La Land. "Bull? You okay, pal?"

Bull looked up at the judge, his brown eyes mournful. "I don't know. I'm happy Selma left her money to me, but... I'd rather have her back, you know?"

"Yeah, I do. I think we'd all rather have her back. The courtroom's not gonna be the same without her."

Bull bowed his head, trying desperately to hide a new flooding of tears. "There was still a lot we never got to say to each other. You know, she never even told me she loved me."

"She showed you plenty of times."

"Woulda been nice to hear. Heck, I'd have been happy with a note."

Harry sighed. "Well, there are some things we'll just never... hey, wait a second, what's this?" He reached into the box one more time and came up with a plain white envelope. "It's addressed to you, Bull – and it's Selma's handwriting."

Bull took the letter from the judge's outstretched hand and slit it open with a finger. He pulled out the letter, shook it open, and read Selma's final message out loud.

_Dear Bull,_

_If you're reading this right now, chances are I'm dead and Harry's already read my will. I know everybody will be happy with what I left them, except Dan, who's probably jamming his head into the Xerox machine. You're still confused, right? Here's the deal._

_Take 27 years of court work, one lucky lottery ticket, and alimony from six ex-husbands, add it all together, and you've got my little stash. I never knew what the heck to do with that much dough, other than buy a motorcycle and a date with Tom Cruise. But the motorbike deal fell through and Tom only showed up in my dreams, and then I found out about the cancer. I couldn't think of anybody I could trust with all that moolah except you._

_Why? Because you're my friend. You've covered my butt and I've covered yours, like that time you got shanked in the bailiffs' lounge. I never had kids, but you're the closest thing I've ever had to a son. It ain't a million bucks, but the cash will take care of you, just like I will. At the risk of being totally sappy, I'll always be with you. You just have to know how to look._

_Your friend,_

_Selma_

_P.S. I love you._

Bull pressed the letter to his heart, feeling his self-control weaken. He'd sworn he wouldn't cry, and now here he was, about to bawl his eyes out in the judge's chambers. "Selma..." His heavy shoulders began to shake.

"Easy there, Big Guy," Harry soothed, putting his arms around the bailiff's shoulders. "Let it out. It's okay."

Fat tears slid down Bull's face as his big body racked with sobs. Keeping his silence so Bull could have some reprieve, Harry simply held him while he cried, running a hand up and down his back to calm him. When he'd finally shed all his tears, he stood back and mopped at his eyes. "She said it, Harry. She said she loved me."

"I know. And you loved her. We could all see it. Selma never would've admitted it, but she was like another mom to you. I think she would've killed for you."

"She almost did a couple of times," Bull chuckled. "Remember the time she tied that biker into a pretzel?"

"And when she chased Dan down the stairs, pelting him with those tomatoes from the salad bar?"

Selma stories soon flew thick and fast between the two men until they were both howling with laughter, Bull loudest of all. It felt great to laugh, but a bittersweet feeling remained inside. He sighed. "I miss her so much."

"We all do, Bull," Harry said, smiling dolefully. "But it doesn't mean her spirit won't still be here. Like she said, she'll always be looking out for you."

At that very moment, who should come strutting through the door but Dan, chipper once again... which undoubtedly meant he was up to something. "Hey, Bull! Listen, Big Guy, I'm sorry for yelling at you. If Selma left you a ton of cash, that's her decision, no matter how stupid. Speaking of which, what do you say we go out to dinner? I've figured out this hot new investment plan you'd be perfect for! I just need to borrow a couple thousand dollars; it'll be great!"

"Dan, you just don't know when to quit, do you?" Harry asked, disgusted with Dan's behavior.

"Oh, come on, sir!" Dan wheedled while Bull read Selma's letter a second time. "Selma probably didn't leave him any instructions, like 'Donate it to the apes at the zoo for their banana drive.'"

"Actually, she did," Bull corrected. "There's another P.S. on here. 'P.S. again: if Dan ever tries to bilk you out of so much as a lousy penny of the loot, tell him I'll haunt him for the rest of his life.'"

Dan busted out laughing. "Haunt me for the rest of my life? Yeah, right! Thanks for the laugh, Selma!"

Suddenly, something flew through the open door and smacked Dan in the head. "Ow! What the..." He knelt down and picked up a still-smoking cigarette butt. "Who threw this at me? My hair could've caught fire!"

Harry strode to the door and poked his head out. "Dan, there's nobody out there. The hallway's empty."

"What? That's ridiculous; someone had to have thrown this thing!"

Bull took the cigarette from Dan and inspected it from end to ash. "It's an Ashboro Light." A slow, slightly wicked smile formed on his face. "Selma's brand."

Dan shook his head. "You guys are nuts. There is no way, no conceivable way that Selma –"

Another lit cigarette came sailing through the door and popped Dan in the head yet again, and that time, there was no mistaking it. "Another Ashboro Light," observed Bull.

"And no one in the hall," stated Harry, as calmly as you please.

Dan froze. "But... but... but... that's impossible!"

"What's the matter, Dan? You afraid of ghosts?" Harry asked evilly.

"No, but I betcha he's scared of Selma," Bull said, his own grin just as wicked. "Should we count?"

"I got it." Harry pretended to look at his watch while Dan vibrated from head to toe. "Three... two... one."

Dan screamed and tore out of the chambers as fast as he could go, while Harry and Bull laughed until tears came again – although this time, they were tears of joy.

"Hey, hey, Bull," Harry said, once he'd regained control of himself, "did you think that was weird?"

Bull shrugged. "Did you?"

"Tell you the truth, no. I've seen some pretty amazing things in my time, so why not believe in ghosts? Besides, it might do us all good to know Selma's still with us... and making Dan's life a living hell." He snickered and grinned up at Bull. "C'mon. Let's go get something to eat. My treat."

"In a second, Harry. I need a minute alone."

"Sure. Take your time."

The door closed and Bull exhaled a sigh, ashing the two cigarettes with his foot. His eyes then roamed the room until he saw her... and smiled. "I knew it was you."

"Who'd you expect? Casper the Friendly Ghost?"

Bull laughed. "Sure is great to see you, Selma."

"Didn't I tell you I'd always be here? I told you, being dead ain't gonna stop me from lookin' out for you. I can't beat people up anymore, but I can sure as heck scare the crap out of 'em."

"Like you did with Dan?"

"I meant it, too. I'll haunt the hormones right outta him."

Bull laughed again as the ghost of his old friend came near. Selma looked no different, dressed in her familiar bailiff's uniform, but she was slightly translucent, the only thing that marked her as a spirit. The sly sparkle in her eyes, though, was still as alive as ever. "Really sweet of you to leave me all that money."

"Hey, it's the least I could do for my boy. That dough'll set you for life."

"And that's what you meant when you said you'd take care of me."

"You got it."

"I got your letter, too."

"You saw what I wrote there at the end?"

"Yeah. But I'd rather hear you say it."

Selma shot him the old look. "You're gettin' mushy, Bull." She sighed. "And I'm gettin' soft now that I'm dead. Come here. Closer." The closer he got, the more solid she became, and when she hugged him, he could feel her as warmly and tangibly as when she'd been alive. "I love you," he heard in a soft, scratchy whisper.

"Love you too," he whispered back, his heart taking flight.

"What's not to love?" He laughed and she released him, her lips touching his cheek in one last kiss. "Now go on, get outta here and have some fun. Raise a glass to me. Throw me a party. Be happy."

Bull's next smile was mixed with sorrow. "Selma, I'll never find another friend like you."

Selma popped that sly grin. "Oh, I think you might. Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow, but she'll come along."

"When?"

"You'll see."

That sounded familiar... and oddly comforting. Bull smiled fondly at the little ghost as she became translucent once more. "See you around, Selma."

"See ya, Bull. And behave yourself. I'll be watching." Selma blew him a kiss just before she faded away entirely... and he was alone again.

Or maybe not. He had her inheritance, he had her letter, he had her love... and he would always have her spirit to watch over him. Smiling, Bull walked out of Harry's chambers and into the land of the living, safe in the knowledge that he wasn't walking alone.


End file.
